Love and Neglect
by Gabrielle MB
Summary: They all grew up in such different families. Gen.


**author:** Gabrielle MB  
**fandom:** Scrubs isn't mine. Touchstone, Buena Vista and Bill Lawrence own everything. I'm not making any money.  
**warnings:** None really. Gen stuff this time.  
**notes:** They all grew up in such different families. For the fanfic100 challenge on LJ. Prompt 027: Parents. 

**Love and Neglect**

When Elliot is eight, she gets a Barbie Dream House as a Christmas present. Her enthusiastic ripping of the cheery red paper comes to a stop as soon as she sees the pink monstrosity. She sits there staring at it on the white marble floor, her frilly red velvet Christmas dress pooling around her. In sudden agony, Elliot grabs at her loose, bouncy blonde curls and screams and screams until her mother bends down at an awkward angle, ankles snapping and popping and creaking in her high heels. 

"What's the matter, honey?" Her mother asks -- tight, plastic smile slipping and sliding, irritation snapping in her eyes -- but Elliot can't say anything through the burning tears of disappointment. Her father saunters over at that point with a glass of eggnog in his hand and alarm on his face. "For heaven's sake, Elliot. Why are you crying?" He barks in a quiet voice, expression forbidding. Curious faces gather at the salon doorway, tsking and whispering. Her mother's smile cracks and she looks ugly underneath all her makeup. 

Elliot swallows her tears, stares two cold strangers in the face and tells them she wanted Playmobils and Legos. 

-- 

Carla gets into a fight with two boys twice her size when she is ten. She stands there with her little fists clenched obstinately while the boys circle her, mocking and spitting. She stands her ground even when one of them grabs her by her long, curly hair and shakes until her jaw rattles. Carla fights her tears even as the pain swells and throbs in her scalp. She struggles, kicks out a foot and catches the onlooker in the nuts. The boy howls with pain, and the one holding her captive swears and turns her by her hair to face him. Carla stares up at him, eyes dark and furious, and rips and rips at the boy's clenched fingers until they let go and bleed all over her pretty white shirt. 

When she stumbles home later that day, pink skirt torn and hair caked with mud, her mother presses a hand to her heart. Then strong fingers are holding her still while she screams how _it hurts, it hurts, mamá_ as her mother cleans her cuts and scrapes. She's pulled into a strong, steady embrace straight from the metal pail. Her cries from the burn of the alcohol and the warm water quiet down into hiccups. 

"Mamá," Carla whispers, glancing warily up from where she's hidden her face in her mother's neck. "What's a spic?" 

Her mother closes her eyes, muttering _Mi Dios_ over and over, and then Carla feels tears and kisses rain onto her dark honey skin. 

-- 

JD finds out he actually _has_ a dad when he's nine years old. He's always heard stories, of course, of his heroic dad battling it out there in the highly competitive field of office supplies. He remembers the birthday cards that arrive three weeks (too) late every year. He doesn't think he can forget all the days he's spent staring at his mother's watery smile. 

When JD finally gets to meet his dad, he feels strangely disappointed by the thinning hair and the tired eyes. Dan and his mother run into his father's arms right there in the doorway like stumbling puppies. They kiss and hug and laugh, but JD stays in the kitchen until all the commotion has died down, his heart in his throat. 

"Where's my golden boy?" His father hollers down the short hall where the wallpaper has started to peel off and turn yellow from old age and mold. Dan and his mother both turn, smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. The stranger opens his arms, on his face a wide, wide smile that wants to eat JD alive. 

JD can't make himself move. 

When he climbs in their shared bed that evening, Dan breathes "I'm sorry" and "he's such an asshole" and "he's still your dad, asswipe" into JD's ear until he starts giggling because it tickles. 

They fall asleep clutching at each other for dear life. 

-- 

Chris wants to be Superman at age six. His mother scoffs at this, hands perched on her heavy hips, and reaches out to thwack him upside the back of his curly-haired head. "Don't be a fool, boy," she says, tugging at the lapels of his church jacket, "Superman's a story." Chris pouts at this, crossing his arms over his mother's fingers. "But I wanna be Superman!" He insists, frustration making his voice climb. 

His mother gives his jacket one last tug, fighting a smile at the sight of her child frowning so furiously, and stands up. "Now hurry up, Chris! Get your shoes and coat. We're gonna be late and you know how reverend Michaels doesn't like his lost sheep bein' late." She says, watching Chris stomp to the door. 

Later, when Chris is sitting in the brightly lit church among a cacophony of colors and voices singing praise to the Lord, he burrows into his mother's warm, soft side and dangles his legs over the edge of the pew. He feels drowsy and joyful and at peace. 

But he still thinks it'd be neat to be able to fly. 


End file.
